Burning Vegas Lights
{Chapter One- Alpha}
The sun had not risen yet above the Mojave, and yet the air was burning like the fireball that had only started to peek from the dry and calloused ridges that rose above the equally dry and calloused land. Sandstorms were quite common among the dry Lake Ivanpah- spinning and twisting, slowing down caravan traffic, picking up every single cursed and unloved piece of sand and dust that was seemingly damned to an eternity as such. Light scattered upon the grains as the wind howled wildly within the choking dustbowl, weathering down pre-existing rocks or covering skeletons of both animal and human who were long ago asphyxiated and delirious from dehydration and the fine dust filling their lungs and throat. When storms like those arrived and tormented the subtle life of the Mojave, everything seemed to cease except for the slightest of gunfire in the distance and the weak Vegas lights- a paradise among a walk of fire and brimstone.
Among the timeworn New Vegas Strip, lined up like the hookers in the lustrous, but venerable, streets below were the casinos that might have once been famous for better food and great times but now only provided a refuge for the scandalous and glamorous fast-living city dwellers, who very much enjoyed the protection that the concrete walls gave against the outside world. Mainly populated by the NCR and their political play fort, the peace has been kept only by treaties and agreements between one very mysterious benefactor, Mr. House, and Ambassador Crocker. But life, if it hadn't ceased to exist like the noise far away from the 'city' and it's numerous stone paneling's to keep out the many dangers of the nuclear wasteland, it most likely {undoubtedly} would continue in its steady pace to recovery from the most major 'extinction' event. The world kept spinning on its slowly shifting axis, turning round and round at its own pace since no one seemed to care of the time; letting what little seasons pass in the Mojave, and letting everything settle down into place as hell rained down upon a grouping of two soldiers.
.308 casings hit the ground and clattered with the broken pavement, rolling into blood of both parties. The flare and glare of both lens and scope radiated with the slowly creeping morning light of the sun that finally decided to blaze upon the brow of her spotter, who would most likely have a hard time doing his job now. Exhausting air from her lungs, the aura of the one-hour weekend seemed to end here at a midriff, killing the Jet in Rene's system and causing her to shake slightly from the abrupt conclusion of her feet tripping light and falling back into the combat where bullets zinged past her head and into the cracked brick pressed behind her back. Feeling the pressure build up behind her forehead, Rene wanted to vomit from the heat- but not in the middle of combat. It'd have to simply wait until Boone had dispatched of her vexations.
Doubling over in a fit of coughing, Rene felt her throat tighten up, with her lungs wanting to constrict as well. She coughed, wiping her eyes of the tears that had formed from her congestion, and sat herself against the wall that was pockmarked with bullet holes and stained with copious amounts of who-knows-what. Trying to clear her throat, she let the shade try and lull her to sleep, wanting to make up for all that she lost the night before when traveling down the Long 15. Sleep, though, wasn't tolerated out in the open and she found herself being dragged to her feet by the large guy. Trying to take her wrist back without bruising it or hurting herself, Rene simply tried to focus on the road ahead.
She missed the sensation of tripping light.
Letting cloudless sky meander on in what seemed like a never-ending ocean that bled into the torrid ground, she continued, stripping off unnecessary layers and dropping junk here and there from her backpack. Digging into her pack, she pulled out two warm bottles of water, tossing one to Boone, who gave a curt nod and opened it swiftly, downing half of it. Rene sipped hers slowly, tasting how salty it was. It was the best damn salt water she had so far, and it wasn't going to waste. Pushing her brown mane of hair over her left shoulder, tossed the plastic to the side of the road, and the blaze of light in the sky not even wanting to waver or give mercy upon her sunburnt skin.
Boone watched the roads for any sign of hazard, peering through his scope every now and then. {Ree-ne... or was it Rah-nay?} Rene didn't look too good, she was flushed of color except the red patch of burnt skin and her eyes were glossy. The water helped her quite a bit- she was like a droopy, dehydrated flower. Rene's hazel eyes fixed upon the breakage in the pavement that was burning hot, with her feet carrying her as much as they could. When he was with the NCR, they'd pushed him to the limits- how the hell did this girl who was a lot younger than he get passed into the army if she can't walk half a mile without wanting to rest? Maybe she was sick- he hoped not, but it could be that she had come down with something bad.
Boone strode alongside the girl, no older than 20, who had dropped out of basic med school for the Followers and the NCR Army {she was honorably discharged, as far as she had told him}. Her thin, branchlike wrists carried a heavy rifle she didn't even bother to sling on her back most of the time, and was always being maintained by Rene, unlike his rifle that was held together by ducttape. Hell of a shot, she was, but he could actually find the targets for her to kill if need be. And she was short. About 5'3", or so, but that was pretty damn short.
The outline of New Vegas was on the horizon, but their journey only began from there- or it would- they'd have to get a place to stop because at this point, Rene looked dead tired. Who cared if it was the middle of the day she decided to sleep during? Time didn't have a place in the Mojave; no one ever seemed to know what it was.
No one seemed to care what time was.